


It’ll Be Alright Again

by viajeramyra



Series: The 4x08 Fix-It [4]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Comfort No Hurt, Cuddles, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, supportive boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: “They should be,” Martín grumbles, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t ask to be this way. I didn’t ask to be broken.”“You’re not broken.”—Martín has an anxiety attack, and Andrés is there to comfort him.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: The 4x08 Fix-It [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897636
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	It’ll Be Alright Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Puddnheadbou](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Puddnheadbou).



> This is what happens when projecting meets your dear friend giving you Baby Yoda eyes to share the finished product. It’s 100% soft content, with a little bit of a description of anxiety attacks (or at least how mine are). Hopefully it’s not triggering for anyone because I didn’t go into a lot of depth, just focused on the comfort/loving support portion.

It doesn’t always start like this. Sometimes, he has the exact amount of minutes necessary to throw himself from their bed, find his way to the other side of their home, and immediately get to work. On those days, the sun breaks through the stormy clouds hanging above his head and he manages to avoid his demons for another day. On days like this, when the sun is beating into room, tenderly lighting his features and trying to coax him towards the crashing waves on the other side of the picket gate, he doesn’t get the chance. The birds hum outside his window, enchanting and promising. Voices can be heard in the garden, his family laughing without him. And Martín? The heavy weight is already saddled on his chest, hands pinned to his sides, with no desire to join them. 

That’s the joy of his anxiety and depression. Its strength never fails to be unpredictable, and some days he simply cannot outrun it. Instead, he twists in bed slowly, head buried between the two pillows. These days, Andrés’ holds the smell of coconuts and tanning oil over the usual prestigious bottles of cologne. He pulls it closer, burying the majority of his face in the pillow. It’s comforting having a piece of Andrés lose, without having to bother his boyfriend. 

They’d promised Paula an enjoyable day at the beach the night before, their weekend babysitting meant to allow Sergio and Raquel a weekend alone. Now, as knots twisted up and down his back, the dull ache overwhelming, he regretted the decision. 

On the worst of days, Andrés would be running his fingers through his hair, sitting in comfortable silence with him. It wasn’t always enough to fight the pain, but it helped. With Paula visiting, it was selfish to demand Andrés’ attention for himself. It was probably always selfish to ask for it anyway, but at least there was little else to be done on Koh Lanta. 

Instead, he pulls his knees closer to his chest. Blind spots fill his vision every time he tries to look around. They twirl together, making the room around him spin to the irregular beating of his heart. It creates the worst tango he’s ever seen, enough to twist his stomach into knots. If it weren’t empty, he’d probably be sick. 

He knows it’s his turn to make breakfast. That’s certainly the only reason he hears the doorknob turn, Andrés and Paula’s voices drowning as it slowly opens. He hears Andrés tell her to wait in the living room, before the door closes once again. Martín scrunches his eyes, hoping the pretense of sleep gets him left alone. That never used to happen before, so why should it now? What’s more likely is he’ll be yelled at, told he’s being useless, reminded there’s no reason to feel this way. Some part of him, caged away and broken, will cry that he already knows that. Another will beg without release for someone to simply understand. He doesn’t want to feel this way, why would any one? That’s the part wishing for help, needing not to be alone. Guilt unhinges its jaw to swallow him whole next, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, sweat pooling on his temples, and finally, Martín sobs. 

“Cariño,” Andrés whispers, running his fingers along Martín’s shoulder blade. Andrés makes room for himself on his side of the bed, legs stretched out and his free hand maintaining his center of gravity. Instinctively, Martín moves until his head finds Andrés’ lap, arms weakly holding his waist. “Another bad day?” 

All he can do is nod, though another voice mocks him for doing so. He closes his eyes, hoping blindness settles his wounded pride. It doesn’t, nothing ever does. He’s being weak, pathetic even. “I’m — sorry.” 

“Martín,” the soothing use of his name starts as fingers brush through his hair. A kiss finds his temple, trying to coax away the demons. Andrés is _his,_ Andrés _loves_ him, he tells himself. It’s hard to remember that, to fully accept it, with the weight of today’s struggles dragging him down. “Tranquilo, estoy aquí.” 

“How are we supposed to explain this to Paula? I’m being pathetic, I can’t even get out of bed. How is any of this okay? I…nothing even happened to trigger it!”

“We’ve talked about this, mi amor.” A finger traces his jaw, the pad of Andrés’ thumb coming to rest under his chin. He tilts Martín’s head to look up at him. “There doesn’t need to be. It’s your illnesses, they’re not always predictable.” 

“They should be,” Martín grumbles, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t ask to be this way. I didn’t ask to be broken.” 

“You’re not broken.” 

Andrés’ hand finds his, and he’s granted a gentle kiss along each of his knuckles. The tears come easier then, buried into the fabric of Andrés’ shirt. They soak the thin material, probably staining the cream. If Andrés cares, he doesn’t say and Martín is grateful for it. Nobody was ever kind to him before, when these ‘episodes’ happened. Before Andrés, he used to hide them very well under the stream of hot water in a shower. It became too difficult as they became each other’s shadow. But, he was never judged, never made to feel inferior. 

The first claw sunk into his chest releases its hold then, warmth rushing in to cauterize the wound. Exhaustion heavies his eyelids, sleep already trying to claim him again so soon. 

“What about Paula?” He mumbles again. 

“She’s a brilliant child who will understand you’re sick today. I do have to leave you to make her breakfast before she destroys my kitchen, but I’ll come back to check on you,” Andrés promises. “Don’t worry about anything, as much as you can.” 

When he finally woke up again, tucked into bed where Andrés had left him with a kiss on his cheek, he stretched out his arms and legs. Rolling onto his back, the residual headache still pounded for release, and his stomach growled. The heavy feeling wasn’t as bad now, but still hung threateningly over his head. He knew it was in his best interest to eat before it got any worse; so, slowly Martín got out of bed to follow that instinct. With Andrés’ favorite silk robe around him, he made his way down the hall. 

The warmth spread further, lightening his load at the scene before him. In one corner of the room, blankets and sofa pillows were carefully arranged in front of the old television set they’d purchased. Andrés and Paula were currently sitting on the floor, crayons and colored pencils between them, with pads of paper on their laps. The marble island had a covered plate waiting for him, a small stack of pancakes and a few strips of bacon waiting to be reheated. 

“All this for me?”

Paula’s head shot up, and she brought the pad of paper with her as she ran to give him a hug. “Tio Martín, tío ‘Dres said you didn’t feel good.” 

“No, I didn’t.” He took a step back from the hug, and the papers were thrust in his hands. 

“I made it for you,” she said, the cheerful smile helping to improve his state. There was a stick figure drawing of the five of them, from their last trip to one of the smaller islands. Trees and sandcastles dotted the scenery, the half written message of ‘Feel Better Soon’ scribbled across the top of the card. 

“She insisted,” Andrés added, picking up their materials before he also rose from the floor. After placing them on the table, he reached for Martín’s hand, giving a gentle squeeze. A simple kiss found his lips, Andrés eyes searching his face for signs of improvement. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Martín replied, grinning at the two. The bad days would come and go, but he no longer had to weather the storms alone. If only his younger self knew how much his support system would grow. Everything was going to be okay again, one hour or even one day at a time. His new family had seen to that. 

“Can we watch _Moana_ and use the fort now, Tío?” 

“I think that’s a great idea, Paula.” 

Andrés propped up at the back of the fort, arms wrapped around him tightly. Paula’s nose crinkled when she complained about the cooties, taking her own seat at the front near the television. And Martín simply settled into the comfort of it all, each breath coming more easily now. 


End file.
